


The Bet

by wordybee



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Britta POV, F/M, background Jeff/Annie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3679869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordybee/pseuds/wordybee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff and Britta make a bet to see who can go the longest without sex. When Britta fears she'll lose to Jeff, she breaks out her secret weapon to tempt Jeff with: A Sexy Annie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written on Livejournal way back in 2011 but I figured it was time to start putting AO3 to use.

            It started off with a bet, and because Jeff and Britta are _exactly who they are_ , the bet involves sex.  
  
            Well, actually, the lack of sex.  
  
            And it technically started off with a conversation about the weather, which then turned into a conversation about sex, which then turned into a conversation about a lack of sex, which then turned into a bet on who could go the longest without having sex in order to prove which of the two had the strongest control over their base animal urges.  
  
            Britta didn’t know exactly why, but her conversations with Jeff tended to veer off course a _lot_.  
  
            Either way, now they’re talking about the details of the bet, which seem to be pretty simple:  
  
            “Don’t have sex,” Britta says. “Or anything sex-related.”  
  
            “Wait, how do I know you won’t just have sex and then lie about it?”  
  
            Britta scoffs at that. “Yeah, because _I_ would be the one to lie about it. If anyone lied about anything, it’d be you.”  
  
            “Hey, I don’t need to lie. I’m going to win this with good old-fashioned _strength of will_. I eat egg whites and protein shakes every day. I haven’t had a slice of bacon in twenty years. I keep a strict regimen of strength and cardio training. I am the _king_ of willing myself into doing stupidly unnatural things.”  
  
            “Yeah, well, I’m a vegetarian. I have to deal with depriving myself of things all the time. It’s second nature to me.”  
  
            “I think depriving myself of every delicious food, ever, wins over you just having to pick the pepperoni off your pizza. And I’m pretty sure you didn’t even do _that_ the last time we ate pizza.”  
  
            Rolling her eyes, Britta waves her hands in a general dismissive gesture at Jeff. “Whatever. This is about sex, not food, anyway. And we all know that men are _way_ more sexually driven than women.”  
  
            “Yeah, we’ll see. And when I win and prove you wrong, I’ll buy you a slice of pepperoni pizza with the hundred dollars you’re going to give me.”  
  
            She makes a face, “Yeah, well, I won’t eat it because _I don’t eat meat_.”  
  
            Britta stomps off, leaving Jeff sitting on the study room couch, smiling mildly. He nods to himself, counting backwards from three and ticking the numbers off on his fingers. As soon as he hits one, Britta appears again in the doorway.  
  
            “Also,” she says, slightly flustered, “I’m not going to eat the pizza because the pizza isn’t going to exist because _I’m_ going to win! So there!”  
  
  
**ONE WEEK**  
  
            Jeff and Britta sit down for lunch. Britta’s plate is full of carrot sticks and celery, with a couple jalapeno poppers as a bit of a reward for being the sort of person who eats carrot sticks and celery. Jeff’s got an apple, a bottle of water, and a serving of macaroni and cheese.  
  
            “Huh,” Britta says, looking pointedly at Jeff’s plate. “Carbs, Jeff? What happened to your strict diet? Doesn’t really bode well for you and the bet, does it?”  
  
            She triumphantly tosses a jalapeno popper into her mouth and smiles.  
  
            “For your information, it’s carb day – “ and only Jeff Winger could make _that_ not sound as dorky as it should “ – and that’s rich, coming from you.”  
  
            Britta snorts, eating another popper. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”  
  
            “The jalapeno poppers have bacon in them, Britta. It’s right there on the label velcroed to the sneeze guard.”  
  
            Eyes wide with horror, Britta spits the jalapeno popper she’d been chewing into her napkin and shoves a carrot stick into her mouth, chewing furiously as if the carrot could wash away the guilt of eating a poor, defenseless pig. Jeff, meanwhile, looks smug. Britta tries to glare at him, but it comes off as slightly nauseous and weak.  
  
            “Shut up. It doesn’t count as deviation if I don’t know about it.”  
  
            “Tell that to the poor pig you just devoured.”  
  
  
**TWO WEEKS**  
  
            “You lose yet?”  
  
            “Not gonna happen.”  
  
  
**THREE WEEKS**  
  
            Britta sits at the study table, glaring at her notebook like it has personally offended her. Annie keeps glancing in her direction and her twitchiness is driving Britta absolutely insane. Good god, why can’t people _stay still_ , it makes no sense, why are they all so annoying, what is _wrong_ with everyone in this world, dammit, what, what –  
  
            “ _What?!_ ” she snaps, making the other woman jump, eyes wide and frightened like some sort of woodland creature faced with a terrible threat.  
  
            Annie’s mouth opens and closes several times before she leans forward and, very carefully asks, “Are you okay?”  
  
            Before Britta can answer, though, Jeff walks in. Upon seeing that Jeff looks just as (if not more) irritable as she feels, Britta smirks.  
  
            “I’m fine, Annie.”  
  
  
**FOUR WEEKS**  
  
            As long as she’s doing something to keep her mind occupied, Britta can handle it.  
  
            She’s knitted more hats and scarves in the last week than she has in her entire life.  
  
  
**SIX WEEKS**  
  
            Jeff has been snappier lately, which means he’s probably keeping honest.  
  
            Britta curses him for that and knits her cat a sweater.  
  
  
**EIGHT WEEKS**  
  
            Two months.  
  
            Two fucking months.  
  
            Or, rather, two _not-fucking months_.  
  
            There’s not enough yarn in the world for this.  
  
  
**NINE WEEKS**  
  
            Britta realizes that the only way she’s going to win this is if Jeff loses it. And fast.  
  
            She glances at Jeff periodically while they’re sitting at the study room table. Everyone else is reading the chapter for Biology quietly, but Jeff's attention keeps darting toward Annie in an oddly panicked way, eyes wide and throat working continuously as if he has an epic case of dry mouth. Annie’s taken off her cardigan and even Britta’s noticed the fair amount of cleavage on display there. Jeff keeps fidgeting – even more so than he usually does these past couple of weeks – and Britta figures he’s just as crazy from this whole thing as she is, and his incredibly obvious attraction to the woman sitting next to him is just making things worse.  
  
            A plan is born.  
  
            Britta invites Annie out shopping under the guise of getting ready for the upcoming Valentine’s Day Dance. The younger woman is shocked and excited and agrees almost immediately, eager to spend time with one of her few female friends. When Jeff sees the two of them together, he gives Britta a suspicious look that’s cut short by Annie leaning over the table to pick up her books.  
  
            He gives one last frantic glance at Annie before bolting out the room, and Britta thinks this is going to be _way_ easy.  
  
  
**NINE WEEKS (part two)**  
  
            “Are you sure this isn’t too revealing?” Annie asks. She’s modeling a strappy blue dress that accentuates all the stuff that misogynistic pigs like accentuated. Britta feels slightly bad for using Annie as some sort of prop to drive Jeff mad, but her competitive nature trumps her feminist nature.  
  
            She isn’t sure what that says about her.  
  
            At this point, she isn’t sure she cares.  
  
            Besides, it’s not as if the two weren’t crazy about each other already. Frankly, Britta is _helping_ them right now because, seriously, even Shirley has released her death grip on the dream of Britta and Jeff getting married and accepted that Jeff and Annie are irritatingly head-over-heels for each other but too chickenshit to make that first step toward an actual relationship. All right - Shirley would never use the word _chickenshit_ , but same difference.  
  
            “No, Annie,” Britta says through a smile. “I think it looks great.”  
  
            The other woman beams happily and goes back into the dressing room to change back into her normal clothes.  
  
            “We should get shoes next!” Britta calls through the door.  
  
  
**TEN WEEKS**  
  
            Annie’s wearing her strappy blue dress and her hair down over her bare back and shoulders, heels about three inches taller than any other shoe in the girl’s closet, and Britta knows with _incredible_ certainty that she’s winning a hundred bucks from Jeff tonight.  
  
            When she, Annie, and Shirley arrive at the tackily decorated Valentine’s Dance the first thing Britta does is scout for the guys, her hand gripping tightly to a confused Annie’s upper arm. She spots Jeff, Troy, and Abed standing by the punch bowl and push-pulls Annie in their direction, muttering a vaguely hysterical, “Ohlookthere’stheguyslet’sgosee” as she does so.  
  
          Troy is the first to turn and get a good look at Annie, and judging from his wide eyes and gaping mouth Britta would say that Annie’s outfit is a bit of a hit.  
  
            Jeff turns, and the look on his face is downright _hilarious_. For a second Britta forgets her plan, because all she wants to do is cackle at that utterly stupefied expression Jeff Winger is pulling in response to his ultra-crush and maybe-love-of-his-life (whatever, really – Britta’s known Jeff’s been after Annie seriously since like, last year, but she’s never really been sure where they were at in their relationship because those two danced around each other so much it made her dizzy). Annie, bless her, just looks at him shyly. Britta rolls her eyes and pushes Annie further in Jeff’s direction.  
  
            “Hey, Annie, dance with Jeff!” she almost-shrieks.  
  
            Jeff is suspicious for about two seconds, before Annie’s got her hand on his wrist and she’s leading him toward the dance floor and there’s nothing he can really do about it.  
  
            Britta pours herself a glass of heavily spiked punch and waits.

  
  
            Jeff and Annie are together all night. Slow dance, fast dance, getting drinks together.  
  
            Good lord, they’re so sweet they make Britta’s teeth ache.  
  
            She drinks more punch. She and Troy manage to get a few dances of their own in.  
  
  
            She catches Jeff and Annie making out in the back corner and does an internal victory dance because that hundred dollars is _hers_.  
  
            If she loosens up a little after that, and dances a bit more, and stops watching those two as closely as she’d been all night well, it was her prerogative as the _total winner_.  
  
  
**TEN WEEKS (plus one day)**  
  
            Britta wakes up to a wicked hangover.  
  
            She is also quite possibly not in her own bed.  
  
            Son of a _bitch_.  
  
            She flicks on her cell phone and groans internally at the “ONE NEW TEXT” alert on the screen. From Jeff. Of course. He probably saw Drunk Her heading out with some guy and texted her to brag about his victory despite all of Britta’s hard work.  
  
            To her surprise, however, it’s not a victory text she reads.  
  
            Britta smiles.  
  
            **FROM: JEFF**  
            February 15, 2013 at 4:33 AM  
                     _**Let’s call it a draw.**_

 


End file.
